


Like a Second Heart

by aquietdin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Romance, Season 8 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-08 15:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquietdin/pseuds/aquietdin
Summary: “How old are you?”“Eighteen.”Twin gasps came from either side of him. To his left, Shiro’s brown eyes were wide, his mouth closed in a tight line. To his right, Pidge’s jaw hung lose, her eyebrows cinched under her hair.“Was…” Lance glanced around. “Was that wrong?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> canon divergence: Allura lives

 

He was dreaming.

At least, he thought so. It was all fuzzy and warped and didn't really make sense. There were voices near him. Was someone calling his name?

He tried to open his eyes and oof, that _hurt._ That hurt so much. Everything was so bright and so, so much. His head was throbbing.

_Lance?_

He knew that voice. He was probably needed - did he oversleep? He heard himself grunt as he tried to open his eyes again. It felt like he’d been asleep for years.

_Can you hear me? Lance?_

“...’m awake…”

He was trying to be, at least. It took several more tries for it to actually happen, though. The room around him was blurry. Was he inside Red? He had to be, the castle was gone.

“You back with us, Lance?”

He turned his head to the side and oh, it’s Shiro, smiling at him. At least he thought Shiro was smiling, his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus.

“Where am I?”

It wasn’t until Shiro put his warm hand against Lance’s arm that he could feel the limb at all, his whole body a tingling phantom that was only vaguely connected to his brain.

“You’re in a hospital,” Shiro’s voice floated over to him. Lance felt a small wave of vertigo and shut his eyes to regain his balance.

“Easy,” another voice came from somewhere. “You’ve been out for a while. Take it slow.”

“Pidge?” Lance slurred. That sounded like Pidge.

Another hand, this one smaller than Shiro’s and ice cold, landed on his other arm. “Yeah, Lance. I’m here,” Pidge confirmed.

Someone was talking, but he didn’t recognize the voice. He was in a hospital? Did they stop on a planet somewhere?  Slowly, Lance’s vision cleared bit by bit, until Shiro’s tired face was sharp, and Pidge beside him came into focus. The third voice in the room was a man wearing a white coat, but he didn’t look familiar.

“Got your bearings a little more?” Shiro asked him.

Grunting again, Lance brought his hand up to rub at his forehead. “What happened?”

“Mister McClain?” The man in the white coat came to his bedside. “I’m Doctor Nulis. I’d like to take some vitals and ask you some questions. Do you understand?”

Lance nodded, the action almost automatic. There was something off about his surroundings, something that didn’t quite add up. But his aching head couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was as the doctor swept a small, handheld device around his skull a few times.

“Brain activity seems normal,” he said, nodding at the device. “Do you know where you are?”

“Um.” Lance felt like his thought process was slowed to a snail’s pace. “A hospital…?”

The doctor didn’t comment on his answer. “Do you know how you got here?”

“No.” That he could answer with confidence. Shiro’s face was blank.

“To be expected. Do you know what year it is?”

Laugh laughed then, wincing a little as it made something behind his eye throb. “Dunno if I could answer that anyway. Don’t exactly have calendars in space.”

“Fair enough,” the doctor smiled a little. “How old are you?”

That, at least, he’d kept track of. “Eighteen.”

Twin gasps came from either side of him. To his left, Shiro’s brown eyes were wide, his mouth closed in a tight line. To his right, Pidge’s jaw hung lose, her eyebrows cinched under her hair. Was her hair longer? It felt like someone had stuffed his head with cotton.

“Was…” Lance glanced around. “Was that wrong?”

No one said anything for an agonizingly long time. The doctor, who’s name had already escaped Lance, came a little closer.

“Mister McClain,” His tone was guarded. “You’ve just awoken from a coma. You suffered a serious concussion, and have been out for nearly three weeks.”

Lance frowned. “That’s…a long time,” he commented. It certainly explained why his mind was moving like frozen molasses.

“Memory loss is common,” The doctor continued. “It’s usually temporary. Can you tell me what the last thing you remember clearly is?”

Lance close his eyes and tried. His thoughts were completely scrambled - _you had a concussion, of course they are_ \- but he sifted through a roster of memories. He left earth in the Blue Lion. Became a Paladin of Voltron. Almost died a few times, defeated Zarkon. Defeated Lotor, lost the Castle of Lions. Began the long journey back to Earth. Then it gets fuzzy, like he’s deep underwater where the light doesn’t reach, and he can’t quite see.

“We… we were coming back to Earth,” Lance answered slowly. “We got a distress beacon - and we… we parked the Lions in an asteroid belt somewhere…?”

Pidge made a tiny, strangled sound beside him. Lance didn’t like it. “How much have I missed?” he asked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Lance,” Shiro put a hand on his arm again. “You’re on Earth. We made it back.”

He gasped softly. “Earth?”

Shiro stood, going to a curtain behind him, and pulling it back. Blue sky. White clouds. A wide stretch of sand colored ground, and a compound of buildings and runways.

“The Garrison,” Lance breathed, sitting up straight. He didn’t think he’d ever see it again. “I’m home. I’m --” he inhaled sharp as his head throbbed. “My family! Are they okay? Where are they?”

Returning to his bedside, Shiro smiled, taking one of Lance’s hands in his own. His right arm was different. Wasn’t it?

“They’re safe,” Shiro said. “Your family is alive and well. All of them.” His face then turned serious. “Lance. Listen carefully. It’s been a long time since we came back to Earth. You might not remember it right now.”

He stared at the artificial hand that was holding his. It was definitely different. Had Shiro gotten a new arm? He must have. Lance swallowed and steeled himself. “How long has it been?”

A tense silence settled over the room as Shiro exchanged glances with Pidge and the doctor. “It’s been six years.”

Okay. _Wow._ Not the answer he was expecting. How hard did he hit his head?

“Are you alright?”

It was Pidge who asked him, but Lance kept his gaze fixed on the blanket that covered his legs. “Um.” He honestly didn’t know, his brain still hadn’t caught up. Shiro was talking, but he was still processing the whole ‘six years’ thing. Did that mean he was twenty four now? It had to. His head was starting to hurt again.

“Have you been able to contact his spouse?”

Lance’s head whipped up fast enough to make him dizzy. He stared up at the doctor, his jaw clicking. “Spouse?” Lance squeaked out. “I’m married…?”

No one said anything. Then Shiro patted his hand and smiled. “Easy, Lance. One thing at a time.”

Shiro tried to fill him in as the doctor scanned his head a few more times. Pidge took her tablet and left the room in a hurry, and Lance tried to stay calm, stay calm. _Don’t freak out, you just don’t remember right now._ Shiro kept insisting that his memory would come back, that all his brain scans were normal and he had no lasting damage.

But God. _Six years._ There was a hole in his memories that was six years wide. What happened to him? What happened to everyone else? Did they win the war? Who was he married to? He hoped it was --

A commotion in the hallway outside snapped Lance out of his thoughts. A few voices, one of them loud, and then the door opened.

Lance didn’t recognize him right away. Not just because his head was still more tangled than an old box of christmas lights, but he looked different. Taller, bigger, older. Hair, long and braided, slung over one shoulder, draped over what sort of looked like a Blade of Marmora outfit. A long scar over his right cheek. And his eyes, dark and piercing, staring right at Lance’s own.

“Keith,” Lance breathed.

In three long strides Keith had crossed the room to Lance’s bed, stretching out his arms to scoop Lance into a tight embrace. Lance immediately froze. Since when was Keith a hugger? Especially with _him?_ This was weird, so weird, but Keith was running fingers through his hair and murmuring in his ear.

“I was so worried,” Keith was saying. “So worried, Lance, I thought I’d lost you--”

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice cut in, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder, “Keith, wait.”

With one last squeeze Keith finally pulled back to look Lance in the eyes, searching. Keith looked so much older. And tired, lines under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in a while and stubble on his chin. Lance could only stare back at him, jaw slack, confused as hell.

“Keith,” Shiro said again, this time a little stronger. “Easy, Lance has some memory loss.”

That finally got Keith to pull away, slowly, his hands trailing down Lance’s arms as he straightened his spine. His eyes turned hard, flicking all over Lance’s face. “How bad?” Keith asked, his voice low.

Shiro waited a beat before answering. “He doesn’t remember coming back to Earth.”

Lance’s breath caught in his throat. For the rest of his life, no matter what happened, even if he lost more memories, he would never forget how Keith’s face crumbled in that moment. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but his voice wouldn't work. The doctor from before came up to Keith.

“Mister Kogane,” He greeted, his medical tablet in his hand. “If we could step outside, I’d like to discuss your husband’s treatment options.”

Lance’s world ground to a halt. “H...husband…?”

Keith turned to him, anguished. Lance looked to Shiro, the doctor, but no one was saying anything.

“No way,” Lance whispered. “No _way.”_

Keith’s face screwed up like he was in pain. He took the doctor by the arm and walked out of the room, the door hissing shut behind them.

Lance stared after them. He couldn’t have heard that. His head was scrambled. “This is a joke, right?”

Shiro shook his head, once again taking Lance’s hand. “No, Lance. It’s true. You and Keith got married two years ago.”

The floor felt like it was falling out from under him as Lance started to go into shock. He could hear Shiro talking, but couldn’t really understand any of it. Six years. He’d lost any trace of the last six years. He was married to _Keith._

Keith came back in, slowly, and kept a distance from the bed. Then Lance saw it, the ring suspended from a chain around Keith’s neck. It glinted silver in the light, and Lance couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. A machine was beeping near him, faster and faster. His vision went dark, Shiro was yelling. Then nothing.

 

 

.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the comments! I'm excited to write this one and will probably be throwing chapters up as I finish them :D

When Lance woke up again, his mother was sitting next to his bed. He thought he must be dreaming, he hadn’t seen his mother in two years. But she was there, singing to him.

“Mom?”

She smiled at him, and it might have been the most beautiful thing Lance had ever seen. His limbs were heavy but he forced himself up from the sheets and into his mother’s arms, where she cradled him and kissed his hair.

“Mom,” Lance hiccuped. “Mom, I missed you so much -” His voice cut off as a sob overtook him.

“Shh, baby,” his mother cooed. “It’s alright, everything is okay.”

Despite her soothing words, it took Lance a considerable amount of time to calm down. He hadn’t seen his mother in two years. Two years without her voice, her love, and it had cut through him worse than any battle wound. Lance sighed as the tears finally began to stop, leaving his face sore. He really _was_ the baby of the family.

“Better now?”

He could only nod, his throat still tight as he pulled away. His mother left her chair and climbed into Lance’s hospital bed, settling beside him and letting him curl against her.

“Mom,” he said, his voice tiny and scared. “I had a horrible dream. I woke up and I forgot so much, and I was married, and…” Then Lance noticed the room around him, the window to his left, with the view of the Garrison he’d seen before. The hospital blankets over his legs, the paper bracelet on his wrist.

“It was real,” he whispered. “Oh _god._ Mom, _six years --”_

She gently shushed him, combing fingers through his hair. “It’s okay Lance, it’s okay. We’ll get through this, I promise.”

He forced himself to relax against her shoulder. He had a headache and was thirsty, but he didn’t want to move from the comfort of his mother. Lance rubbed at his face, his skin sort of greasy - wow, he really needed a shower. When he pulled his hand away, he saw his left ring finger, where a line of lighter skin sat, like a tan line.

Like a ring had been there.

Shivering, Lance huddled closer to his mother. “Mom?” he asked. “Am I… am I really married to Keith?”

He felt her nod above his head. “Yes, honey. Happily.”

Lance squeezed his eyes shut. “But I don’t--” It hurt to say, though he didn’t know why. “I don’t even like him like that. He’s just a friend. I don’t understand, how could I… could we…”

His mother shushed him again, pulling him close. “Easy, baby. Give it time.”

 

\-----

 

Before she left, Lance’s mother helped him out of the bed and to the small adjoining bathroom with a tiny shower stall. She produced a stack of clean garrison scrubs from somewhere, then kissed his forehead and promised to be back later.

A shower had never felt so good, even the ones he’d taken after epic battles weren’t quite as soothing as this. He’d been out for three weeks - that was almost a month without a chance to bathe properly. Lance let himself stand under the spray of hot water for several minutes, not moving, before finding an unopened package of hospital grade soap and scrubbing himself down from head to toe.

Feeling at least eighty percent better, Lance dressed himself in the clean scrubs, leaving his old ones in a pile on the floor, unsure of what else to do with them. There was a sink outside the bathroom, a packaged toothbrush and unopened toothpaste on the basin. Lance brushed his teeth slowly, carefully, mindful of his head that was still aching slightly.

Clean and refreshed, Lance returned to his bed, noticing that the sheets had been changed. He sat on the edge, a restlessness creeping into him. What now? Just… hang out in a hospital room until he was allowed to leave?

A knock came from the door, a few seconds before it opened. A man walked in, tall and large, with a box in his hands and a gorgeous smile on his face.

“Hunk,” Lance breathed, standing. Hunk met him halfway and pulled Lance into one of his hugs, pressing Lance into his barrel chest, strong arms squeezing his ribs. Hunk gave the _best_ hugs.

“How ya doin’, buddy?” Hunk asked him. Lance could cry from happiness.

“A million times better now that you’re here.”

Pulling back, Lance almost gasped at his oldest friend. Hunk had definitely grown, the youthful rounds of his cheeks now handsomely chiseled, his chin and jaw covered in a neatly manicured beard. He was just as broad and strong, and if Lance didn’t know any better, even taller.

“I brought some cookies,” Hunk said, holding up the little box in his hand.

Lance grinned wide. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Laughing, Hunk motioned towards the freshly made bed. “You have, but it’s always nice to hear.”

Lance ended up sitting cross leg on top of the blankets as Hunk passed him a cookie - white chocolate and macadamia nuts, soft and chewy and still warm. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve a friend like Hunk. They chatted a little while they ate.

“Is your head okay?” Hunk asked. “I heard you woke up a little confused.”

Rolling his eyes, Lance snorted. “Yeah, a little bit. Apparently there’s a good six years that my brain just decided it didn’t need a record of anymore.”

Hunk whistled low. “That’s rough. You just woke up though, right? It might come back to you.” He put the almost empty box of cookies to the side and settled into a chair beside Lance’s bed. “I can fill you in, if you want.”

Lance shrugged. “Where would we even start?” He rubbed at his face, frustrated, then stopped. There was something on his left cheekbone - a bit of raised flesh, rougher than the skin around it. Lance followed it with his fingers, tracing it all the way to his ear.

“What is that?” he asked. There was a mirror over the sink where he’d brushed his teeth, but Lance had been so preoccupied with his situation that he hadn’t really looked at himself. Beside him, Hunk took out his tablet and tapped at it a few times.

“A scar,” Hunk answered as he handed Lance the tablet. It was set to a front-facing camera, so Lance held it up to his face.

He couldn’t stop the gasp if he tried.

He looked _older,_ so much older. His jaw was wider and more defined, his face dotted with patchy stubble. There were lines under his eyes that he’d never seen, and his hair was shaggy and a little darker. But what really got Lance’s attention was the scar, beginning on the ridge of his left cheekbone and extending to his ear, which sported a sizable divot that lined up with the rest of the old wound. Above it, nearly hidden by his hair, was a similar line that began at his temple and faded as it moved back.

“Holy crap,” He whispered, tracing the scar. That looked like it had been deep. “Hunk, how did I get…”

He trailed off, his eyes drooping. The hospital room faded away for a moment, replaced by a flash of a blade, a scream, something with fierce green eyes. Gunfire. Someone telling him that they loved him, over and over, _please don’t leave me, I love you --_

“Yeah,” Hunk’s voice snapped him back to the present. “That was a nasty one. Happened about four years ago. You, uh. Almost died.”

For some reason, Lance became uncomfortable and desperately wanted to change the subject. He returned the tablet and asked Hunk about his own life, only half listening to tales of a cooking empire as he tried to push the vague memory of pain away.

 

\-----

 

Lance was discharged from the hospital a few hours later.

He was on strict orders not to leave the compound and check in with his doctors every day for the next week for more scans. Hunk promised to keep him company, and it helped set Lance at ease. He could always, always depend on Hunk.

“Let’s hit your place,” Hunk suggested as they left, Lance dressed in a spare orange Garrison uniform. It didn’t quite fit right.

Hunk was chatting all the way to the Garrison apartment block, a new addition since they were students. Lance’s apartment was on the fourth floor, and the first thing Lance noticed when they entered is that it was nice. Really nice, big and spacious, with a balcony that offered a beautiful view of the desert. There were couches and chairs with throw blankets and pillows, a large TV with at least four game systems hooked up to it, some of them vintage. One corner of the apartment had two guitars propped up on stands and - was that a violin case? Potted plants and flowers littered the space, and the small kitchen had a few odds and ends on the counter, a bag of what looked like cookies tied shut with a rubber band. It looked lived in, comfortable. Cozy.

Lance made a lap around the space, trying to take it in. He spotted a bathroom, the door half open, and next to it, a door to another space.

When they went into the room, Lance saw the queen sized bed with two pillows, and frowned. Then he looked around. There were photos everywhere, on the dresser, the wall, on shelves - and they were of himself and Keith. Smiling at the camera, wearing fancy suits, holding flowers. Keith kissing his cheek.

This wasn’t Lance’s apartment. It was Lance _and Keith’s_ apartment.

“You okay, man?”

Lance shook his head, staring at the floor. He couldn’t talk, panic crawling into this throat. This couldn’t be real. It was too much.

“...Do you want to leave?”

He nodded. Hunk put a hand on the small of Lance’s back and led him back to a small dorm room, where he curled up in a chair in the corner and didn’t move for several hours.

.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count had been brought down because chapters 3 and 4 were so short that I decided to combine them. Thanks for reading!

Lance stayed with Hunk for a few days.

He felt like it might be silly, he had his own place that would probably be more comfortable than the tiny dorm room that was definitely not big enough for two grown men to share. But his own apartment felt wrong, like he was invading on someone else’s life. He barely even recognized his own face - he had to _shave_ now. That was _wild._

Eventually Hunk told Lance that he should go get some of his clothes and things. And yeah, he had a point - Lance had been living in a spare garrison uniform and hospital scrubs since he woke up. But he didn’t want to go back to that apartment, just the thought of it made his blood pressure spike. But Hunk was persistent, and Lance caved. He knew his friend was right, he just wasn’t ready to face what was inside yet.

When he and Hunk arrived at his apartment, they went straight or the bedroom where the closet was. Lance put one foot inside the door and stopped dead.

Keith was there, standing by the bed in a regular shirt and jeans, his hair tied back in a bun. In front of him, on top of the sheets, was a pile of clothes that looked like he’d been folding them. Keith caught Lance’s eye and froze, a shirt in his hand.

The tense silence stretched out.

“Uh,” Hunk stuttered. “I’m just gonna…” Then he quickly dismissed himself, the door hissing shut and leaving Lance alone with Keith.

Lance looked at the floor, hugging his arms to his chest, fighting the urge to run.

“I was getting out some of your clothes,” Keith broke the silence, placing a neatly folded shirt on top of a stack. “Figured you’d want something other than a uniform.”

Lance laughed, though it was strained. “Yeah, that’s sort of what I came for.”

Lance dared to look up, and for the first time since he woke up, got a good look at Keith. With his fitted shirt and jeans, it was more obvious how much he had grown. How broad his shoulders were, his muscular arms, every inch of him like a mountain, tall and imposing and - and at least a few inches taller than Lance. He also looked like hell, his eyes lined with dark circles, his face pale, spine slumped.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

“I’m sorry,” Lance said, rubbing at one arm in a nervous gesture, remembering how hurt Keith had looked in the hospital. This all felt so, so wrong.

Keith looked up at him, a little pout on his lips. “For what?”

Lance shrugged. “For… for this? For not remembering. I’m sorry.”

Keith’s gaze softened. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“But--” Lance tried. “But I _forgot._ And... And you’re my friend, I don’t want to--”

Keith walked up to him and put a hand on Lance’s shoulder and smiled, tiny and fragile. “Lance,” he started, his eyes flicking all around Lance’s face. “You don’t understand. I… we almost lost you.” Keith took a deep breath. “You’re alive and in one piece. That’s all that matters.”

Lance met his eyes. Keith had gotten _so_ tall. “Still…”

Keith shook his head. “It’s alright. Even if…” he swallowed hard. “Even if you never remember, it’s enough that you’re safe.”

Lance tried to smile but sort of failed. Around Keith’s neck was a chain, thin and silvery, disappearing into his shirt.

“Maybe you should go visit your family,” Keith suggested, releasing Lance’s shoulder and walking back to the pile of clothes on the bed. “You haven’t been home in a while. I bet Kalternecker misses you.”

Home. _Cuba._ There was an idea. As far as Lance could remember, he hadn’t seen his home in years, and he missed it, so much. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I will.”

Keith smiled and there was a little less pain to it this time. “I’ll show you where your stuff is so you can pack.”

 

\-----

 

Lance prepared a bag with enough clothes for a week, and left with his mother for Cuba.

Veronica saw them off - she hadn’t changed much, a few extra lines around her eyes, but otherwise the same snarky sister she’d always been. There was a ring on her right hand with a bright purple jewel. Lance wanted to ask about it, but held his tongue. Another time.

Home turned out to be exactly what Lance needed, even if it started off with him crying his eyes out on the floor of the entryway with his family hugging him from all sides. Kalternecker was alive and well, mooing happily from a large grassy field that was dotted with beautiful pink flowers. Lance tended to her, helped till the fields, slept in his childhood bedroom and ate his mother’s cooking. Nadia and Sylvio were in middle school already, both of them growing like weeds and of much sharper wit than Lance remembered - in other words, they were dangerous. He would have to modify his tactics for dealing with them.

Most of his days were spent in peace, breathing the familiar air of his home. His family didn’t pressure him to remember, just let him relax, telling stories of silly things that happened since he returned to earth.

 

In the middle of the week, he was visited by Allura.

Lance could hardly believe his eyes, standing with the doorway open, knob still in his hand. Allura smiled at him, so soft and lovely, dressed in elegant flowing robes with an elaborate golden crown on her brow.

“Hello, Lance.”

Lance invited her inside, Allura giving him a gentle hug. Together they went to the couch in the front room, and Lance finally noticed her appearance. Like his other friends, she looked older, but not just by six years. It was as though decades had passed, her eyes lined with webs of fine wrinkles. Her hair, now cropped short, looked dull and thin. And her Altean markings, once bright and vivid, were faded against her skin, colorless and dull, looking more like scars than anything.

“Shiro contacted me,” Allura began, taking one of Lance’s hands between her own. Her fingers looked frail. “You’ve lost some of your memories.”

Frowning, Lance looked away. “More than some.”

She patted his hand. “You’re alive and well, and I for one am happy about that.”

Lance didn’t want to be insensitive, but Allura’s looked so, so different. “What happened to you?” he blurted, then nearly clapped a hand over his mouth. Allura just smiled at him.

“Quite a bit.”

She told Lance about the liberation of earth, the continued war, their great battle against Haggar to save all realities. How she saved them at the cost of her magic and alchemy, and nearly her life. Her fingers skated over the remains of her markings as she spoke, her eyes far away and sad.

“Altea was restored,” she smiles then. “My people were saved and able to return to their home world. The Lions of Voltron left, scattered to the far reaches of the universe.”

Lance took a deep breath. “Wow. That’s… A lot.”

“I hope it helps.”

It certainly filled in a few major blanks, but there was still so much Lance didn’t understand. Namely…

“I’m married to Keith.” It came out in a rush, a harsh exhale.

Allura looked unfazed, squeezing his fingers. “Yes, Lance. I was at your wedding. It was beautiful.”

His eyes snapped to hers and he felt his throat tighten. “But that’s -- I don’t remember!” The happiness and ease his family had helped him gain disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving an awful, clawing anxiety in its wake. “I don’t understand how it happened. Not Keith, I don’t --” His eyes stung. “I love _you,_ Allura. I have since I met you. Why would I…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, his voice painfully cracking. Allura squeezed his hands again.

“Oh, Lance.” Then she rose, gliding gracefully to a bookshelf covered in photos, picking up a frame and bringing it with her to the sofa. She handed it to Lance; it was the two of them, years ago, in front of a tree. Arm in arm, smiling happily, their faces glowing with youth.

“This was taken on our first date.”

His head jerked up to hers. “First date?”

“Yes,” Allura nodded, smiling. “We dated for nearly a decaphoeb.”

Lance looked back down at the photo. “We did?” A decaphoeb - that was a year, give or take. But it was past tense, that meant they’d eventually broken up. “What happened?”

Her smile was sad. “It didn’t work, Lance. _We_ didn’t work.” She took the photo back and examined it fondly. “I loved you, and you loved me, but our lives were too different. Our _destinies_ were too different. Altea needed me, and Earth needed you.” Allura set the photo aside with a sigh. “Much of our relationship was long distance, and being together always meant one or both of us had to be away from everything we cared about. In the end, we couldn’t be there for each other in the ways that mattered, and we agreed that we were better suited as friends.”

Lance’s bottom lip quivered as he struggled not to cry. All he could remember was being hopelessly in love with her, starting the second she’d come out of her ten thousand year sleep in the Castle of Lions. Her strength, her wisdom, her beauty had captivated him in a way he’d never felt, and in what memories he could access, she was everything he’d ever wanted. And now here Allura was, telling him that they just _didn’t work._

It was awful.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for. Allura placed her hand on his cheek, warm and soft.

“Lance. I don’t regret a moment we had together.” Her thumb stroked over his scar gently. “After I lost my magic, I was afraid that I wasn’t truly Altean anymore. That I wasn’t fit to return to my home. It was you - your love - that gave me the strength I needed to lead my people, and I will forever be grateful for that.”

He sniffled, loud and wet. There was a comfort to her words, though his chest still ached. “I still don’t understand how I ended up with _Keith.”_

Allura’s smile went all the way to her eyes. “He was there for you, Lance. Keith made you happy in ways I never could. That’s all there is to it.” She kissed his cheek. “You love him. Your mind might not remember right now, but your heart does. Give yourself time.”

She stayed just long enough to say hello to Lance’s family and have a cup of tea, and then she was gone, whisked away on a transport to the other side of the universe. Lance’s lungs burned and his throat was like a vice, but when he returned the photo of himself and Allura to the shelf, he found it was a little lighter, a little easier.

 

\-----

 

Though his encounter with Allura had been hard to swallow, by the end of the week Lance felt refreshed and centered. He hadn’t remembered anything of value - just bits and pieces - but he felt far more prepared to face this unfamiliar reality. His family and Allura had given him strength.

He returned to the Garrison. Lance still wasn’t quite ready to go back to the apartment he shared with Keith, so he stopped by the housing offices to arrange his own dorm. Just for a while. Once he had his keys, he found his room and set his bag down, then left to hit the mess hall.

He was passing another room when he heard voices that he recognized. Lance crept closer and listened.

“....as much as I do.”

That was Keith’s voice. Lance leaned towards the door and strained to hear.

“Keith,” that one sounded like Shiro. “The memory loss might not be permanent—“

“But he doesn’t remember.” There’s a choked sound. “He doesn’t - we were starting to talk about _kids,_ Shiro. But now he’s the same Lance that was crazy about Allura all those years ago. He doesn’t remember falling for me. He…” another harsh noise like a sob. “He doesn’t love me.”

Guilt slammed into Lance with enough force to make him stumble. He quickly turned to leave, going straight back to his room and locking the door, ignoring his growling stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I won't break your hearts too much more from here on out. I mean, I sort of promise. I'm also writing this pretty fast, so please let me know if you spot any errors that need fixing. Thank you for reading!!

Lance kept to himself for the rest of the day. He texted Hunk and asked if he could bring Lance some food, since he wasn’t really up for human contact right now. Mercifully, Hunk brought him lunch, and sat with Lance, putting on a ridiculous alien comedy show on his tablet that actually got Lance to laugh a little.

“Remember Garffle, Warffle, Snick?” Hunk asked during what Lance could only assume was a commercial break. He groaned, covering his eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

Hunk laughed. “Aw, c’mon, man. It wasn’t that bad.”

Oh, but it _was_ that bad. Lance had made an absolute fool of himself in front of Allura, his team, and what he could only assume was the entire universe. He swore Bob was just out to get him.

_What made you pick Keith?_

If Hunk noticed how Lance froze next to him, he said nothing, still watching the show. Why had he done that? It worked out in the end, they all got out, but - why hadn’t he picked Allura?

_I think he’s, like, the future._

Lance kept quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

 

The next night, Lance went up to the observation deck to watch the stars come out over the desert. He brought a blanket to drape over his shoulders against the chill and sat in silence, tracing constellations with his eyes and feeling small and lonely.

“Lance?”

It was Shiro, out of his Garrison uniform and in a faded hoodie and jeans. It was probably the most casual Lance had ever seen him - his former commander was always neat and pressed otherwise. Shiro sat and handed Lance a bottle.

“Harkvut soda from Akrelion Five,” he explained. “Your favorite alien drink.”

Lance opened the bottle and took a sip. It tasted like lime and mango and vanilla all at once, gently sweet with a smooth texture, just a tiny hint of fine carbonation. It was _delicious._

“You okay?” Shiro asked. Lance shook his head.

Shiro went silent for a bit. “Do you remember how I got this body?”

Lance nodded. “It was your clone. You were stuck in the Black Lion until Allura shoved you inside it.” He took another sip of his drink, remembering how out of it Shiro was for weeks afterwards. How the body almost rejected his soul, and they almost lost him a second time.

“It was strange at first,” Shiro told him. “My head was _scrambled._ There were so many memories that belonged to the clone that I couldn’t make sense of any of it. Combine that with being inside the Black Lion for almost a year, and I was a _mess.”_

“What did you do?” Lance asked.

Shiro took a drink of his soda. “I wrote it down. I kept a journal with me, and when I’d remember something, no matter how trivial, I’d write down all of it. Eventually, it started to make sense. I could separate my memories from the clone’s once they were on paper.”

Lance blinked. That... was probably a good idea.

“Have you seen a therapist?”

“Um. No?”

Shiro patted his shoulder. “Consider it, you’ve been through a lot. It helped me, anyway.”

Then Shiro rose to his feet, smiled, and left. Lance stayed on the observation deck for hours, staring up at the Milky Way.

 

——

 

The next morning, Lance shoved his apprehension and embarrassment aside and contacted his doctor.

He was able to see a therapist that afternoon - apparently he was being considered a special case, and schedules were shifted to accommodate him. His therapist was a kind man, maybe Shiro’s age, with a soft voice that instantly put him at ease.

He’d never been to therapy before, and Lance didn’t know where to start, but the therapist coaxed him, gently, to start from the beginning.

Lance told his therapist about waking up, about Keith, about how he was confused and _wanted_ to remember but didn’t know where to start. There was just so much - six years worth - and it seemed impossible.

“I think you shouldn’t focus so much on trying to remember, because in my experience, forcing your mind before it’s ready might do more harm than good.” The therapist tapped at his tablet a little. “I’d suggest, instead, that you focus on the present, explore your surroundings.”

Lance shrugged. “A friend suggested I keep a journal, write down when I remember stuff.”

His therapist smiled. “That’s a good idea, Lance.” Opening a drawer, he produced a simple leather-bound blank book and a pen. “You can have one of my spares.”

He actually felt better after his therapy session, and made a few notes of things that might have been memories. They didn’t make sense yet, there was no context, but Shiro was right. Writing things down cleared his head a little.

Lance explored the Garrison. He met the MFE pilots (again), who seemed kind and told him it was no big deal that he couldn't remember them. He _did_ remember James and Ina from their Garrison class, and they’d both grown so much.

Lance suspected word of his head injury got around, because everyone seemed to be eager to accommodate him. He stood in front of the MFE jets and thought he might remember seeing the high-tech planes in flight, and quickly jotted that note down in his journal. Kinkade, who was stern looking but soft spoken, offered to give him a ride in his MFE when his doctors cleared him for flight.

He spent a few days visiting various departments and people. His journal was getting use, but the things he wrote down still didn’t make sense, just pages of half-formed thoughts and disjointed gibberish. Lance tried to remember what Shiro would always tell Keith: _patience yields focus._ He had to be patient, he knew, but patience had never been his strong suit.

Lance saw his therapist again. He didn’t feel like he’d made progress, but his therapist seemed impressed. He asked Lance how things were with Keith.

“Um. I haven’t really talked to him,” Lance admits. “I’ve sort of been staying in my own place.”

“Lance,” his therapist sighs. “I know this is difficult, but there’s only so much good that avoiding him will do.” Leaning back in his chair, the therapist laced his fingers. “Why not start with something easy? Take some time to explore the home you share with Keith.”

The thought made him uneasy, but Lance knew his doctor was right. He asked Shiro to keep Keith away from the apartment for a day. Shiro seemed skeptical, but Lance told him that all of this was overwhelming to him, and Keith would only make him more anxious if he were there. Lance just wanted to take it all at his own pace.

The apartment hadn’t changed much since he saw it the first time. Lance kept his journal ready and started in the living room, sitting on the couch, looking through the books and games on the shelves. He felt a tug of what might be happiness when he held a blue game controller in his hand. The guitars in the corner looked well-worn, and the instrument inside the case was indeed a violin. Did he play it? Did Keith…?

The dining area was small, but he saw the nice vase in the center of the table and thought he was the one that picked it out, even though he had no memory of doing so. In the kitchen, he rifled through cabinets and came across a box of some alien cracker things and knew, just _knew_ that he liked them. He tried one and yeah, they were good. _Really_ good. Lance ate a few more while he made notes in his journal.

There was a small workstation just off the kitchen and it looked like it might have been Keith’s, if the pair of black gloves on the table were any indication. He went into the bathroom and poked at the jars of creams that lined the vanity. Some of them had labels in English or Spanish, others in languages he’d never even seen. Lance took an almost empty bottle of moisturizer and tucked it into his pocket - he must have liked it if there was almost none left. There was a bathtub big enough for two people, and Lance quickly moved on. He smelled the shampoos in the shower, and could tell which one is his and which one was Keith’s - he didn’t know how. One of them just… smelled like it belonged on Keith.

The last room was the bedroom. He’d been trying to put off going in, but with a deep breath, Lance opened the door. He got a better look at it this time. A wide dresser lined with framed photos was on one side of the room, and on a shelf above it, a white leather book that had a photo of two hands with fingers laced together on the front. The paler of the two hands was wearing a ring.

Lance looked away.

The dresser was full of clothes, as was the closet - he could tell which side was Keith’s by the amount of black and red garments hanging inside. There were two gray Garrison jackets on either side, and Lance blinked. Three gold stripes on the shoulders of each one. Officer’s uniforms? Were they officers now?

There was a small table with a drawer on either side of the bed, and inside one of them was a book and a pair of reading glasses. In the other, a small wooden box with a hinge top. Lance frowned, opening the drawer enough to peek inside the box.

He immediately closed it and slammed the drawer shut. Because that was _definitely_ several condoms and a bottle of lube and what may or may not have been some kind of sex toy.

Lance sat heavily on the bed as the reality sank in. He was married to Keith. _Married._ That probably meant that they’ve...

His eyes clouded over as an image flooded his mind. His hands holding wrists against sheets, a mop of sweaty dark hair below him, a head tilting back, moaning, _fuck, Lance, right there--_

Vertigo hit him and Lance tilted, falling sideways against a pillow. The journal clattered to the floor. He breathed in and oh, he knew this. It was the shampoo in the shower, but also something else. Something rich and hot, like the stars in deep space and the sand on the beach all at once. Sweet like toffee, like late nights watching movies. Duets, giggles under the covers. Morning kisses. As he faded, Lance gripped the pillow under his cheek and knew: _this is Keith’s smell._

 

_._


	5. Chapter 5

“Lance?”

He shifted. Someone was calling his name, but wherever he was, he was comfortable and didn’t want to move.

“Lance,” now his shoulder was being shaken, sleep falling away from his mind. With an annoyed grunt, he cracked open an eye to find Shiro’s slightly blurry face.

“Mm… what…?”

“Are you alright?”

Lance tried to push himself up, but faltered. Dizzy and disoriented, he couldn’t process why Shiro was waking him up, why Shiro was in his room.

“Hey, easy now,” Strong hands were pulling him up. The room tilted. His arm was slung over a shoulder, the gray tile floors of the Garrison passing by his vision. Then a dorm bed, where he let his eyes close again.

 

\-----

 

The second time he woke up and was finally lucid, Lance rubbed at his eyes, feeling the scratch of grit as he stumbled into the tiny adjoining bathroom in his dorm. Once showered and in clean clothes, he stared at the journal on the side table. He should write down what happened. But when he opened the journal, his hands shook. His face went hot. The memory of those sounds, that feeling, Keith’s voice when he - he --

After nearly ten minutes of stalling, he managed to scribble _“remembered sex with Keith??”_ at the bottom of a page before closing the journal and tossing it away.

 

The next few days saw Lance actively avoiding any attempts to remember anything. He had lunch with Veronica and Pidge on most afternoons. Thankfully, he only had to tell them once to ease off the “jog Lance’s memory” operation they’ve seemed dead set on since he woke up. Instead, their conversations revolved around cute stories and funny anecdotes, cat photos on their tablets. It actually helped, and Lance thanked them more than once for going easy on him.

His therapist once again urged him to talk to Keith.

“I don’t know how,” Lance admitted. “Last thing I knew, we were just friends and teammates. Now he’s my - my _husband,”_ the word felt strange. “And I don’t know how to act around him.”

“Then start there,” his therapist said. “Keith was your friend first and foremost. Talk to him like a friend.”

 

The words sat in Lance’s stomach for a full day before he acted on it. He went to the apartment with his journal tucked under his arm, trying to shove down his screaming nerves. He figured if Keith was there, great. If not, he would just wait around for him.

Lance could hear music as he approached, and paused. When he opened the door, he saw that Keith was by the glass door to the balcony, and - he was playing the violin. Facing away from lance, Keith cut a striking figure against the bright sunlight outside, dressed mostly in black, his hair tied up in a high ponytail. He was playing something Lance didn’t recognize but it sounded _amazing,_ slightly melancholy and slow. With the instrument in his hands, haloed by the sun, Keith looked… elegant. Regal. Something Lance had never associated with the team’s resident bad boy loner before.

Things really _had_ changed.

Keith stopped playing and turned, finally noticing Lance. An awkward silence descended as Keith lowered the violin.

“Hi,” Lance squeaked.

“Hey.” Keith fidgeted a little, then returned the violin to its case in the corner.

“You, uh.” Lance kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. “How long have you played that?”

Keith closed the case. “Um. About three years now. You wanted someone to play music with, so…”

Music. Okay, a topic of conversation. Lance walked over to the guitars and touched the older looking one, letting his fingers skate over the steel strings. “I haven’t played since I was a kid.”

Keith hummed. “You picked it back up pretty quickly.”

It was so awkward. Awkward, awkward, _awkward._ Lance hugged the journal to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Keith blinked like he was genuinely confused. “For what?”

Taking a deep breath, Lance steeled himself. He didn’t want to have this conversation but dammit, he was an adult now, he should at least attempt to act like it.

“I’ve been avoiding you,” he admitted, and it’s so hard to get the words out. “It’s not - it’s not that I don’t want to see you, it’s just…. This is all…” He gestured wildly. “A lot.”

He was half expecting Keith to get angry, to pout and brood and snap back at Lance like he used to. But instead Keith’s dark gaze softened, and he smiled a little. “It’s okay. I figured I’d give you some space to figure things out.”

Lance had to blink a bit. Keith, it seemed, had really grown up in the last six years. Lance very much felt like he was still a kid, but his friend was now a man, mature and level headed. It made his cheeks go hot with embarrassment as he chewed his lip.

Keith just looked at him, and it was gentle, fond. Lance felt his pulse quicken a bit and shook his head. He came here for a reason.

“Do you - “ his voice cracked and he swallowed to level it. “Do you want to go get a coffee or something? We can, um, catch up?”

There was surprise in Keith’s eyes, then he smiled and they twinkled. Since when did Keith’s eyes _twinkle?_ What the hell?

“Sure,” Keith answered. “There’s a cafe in town that you really like, we can go there if you want.”

“Okay,” Lance managed.

The drive to the cafe was quiet and maybe a little tense, with Keith in the driver’s seat. It was only about ten minutes away, but the “town” looked like a bazaar out of a fantasy novel. Stalls and tents and aliens were everywhere, peddling strange goods. Keith led him to a shop on a corner, and inside was a quaint, rustic little cafe. The air smelled strongly of coffee and a glass case full of pastries, cakes, and some oddities shone temptingly. A woman the same species as Nyma was minding the shop, and she greeted them like she’d seen them many times before.

Keith helped him pick out a drink and a pastry - something rich and covered in whipped cream, and the muffin had a fruit he’d never seen in it - but it was good, sort of salty-sweet. They found a seat by the window to people watch as they ate. Could it still be called “people” watching if half the residents of this town weren’t human?

“How are you feeling?” Keith’s words cut through Lance’s thoughts.

“Um.” Lance hugged his half-empty cup with both hands. “Okay, I guess?”

“Any headaches?”

Lance shook his head. “Nothing bad, just a few minor ones.” He certainly wasn’t going to bring up passing out in Keith’s - their - bed after remembering…

Nope. Not going there.

“That’s good.” Keith drummed his hands against his mug. God, this was like a _blind date,_ and Lance was desperate for something to talk about to ease this awful tension. A squealing alien child ran by the window, followed by what he assumed was their exasperated parent. Lance got an idea.

“How’d all this happen?” he asked, pointing to the sprawling market outside. “The town. Didn’t this used to be a big metropolitan area?”

“Oh.” Keith frowned. “I’m not really sure, honestly. I spent most of the first two years we were back with the Blade of Marmora, so I was away from earth.”

Lance cocked an eyebrow. “So you finally got back home and then immediately left again?”

Keith laughed a little and _oh,_ his laugh was _soft._ So much softer than Lance thought it would be. Had he ever heard it before now?

“That’s what Shiro said.”

Keith launched into a story about traveling with the Blades, about staying by his mother’s side to rebuild the Galra empire into a republic. Lance thought he might have heard this story before, but it was nice to hear it again. It was also nice to not have an impenetrable wall of tension between himself and Keith for once.

They spent hours in the cafe talking, and by the end, Lance felt lighter. He made a few notes in his journal, and when Keith asked him what he was doing, he explained.

“That seems like a good idea,” Keith commented as they put their empty cups and plates in a bus tub. “Is it helping?”

Lance’s grip on the journal tightened. “A little,” he said, looking away as heat rose in his face. That one sentence he’d written at the bottom of a now abandoned page made the journal feel like it weighed an extra ten pounds, those four words loaded in a way he wasn’t ready to confront yet.

They went back to the Garrison together, and parted ways, smiling. Keith bid him good day, and Lance felt the lightest he had since he woke up.

 

The next day, Pidge was knocking on his door with a giant grin on her face. She had a small tablet in her hands and explained that it was Lance’s, but they weren’t sure if giving it back to him would be too much yet. But Pidge had an idea.

She had Lance unlock it with his fingerprint and opened his music app. Lance blinked in surprise - there is _so much_ music on here. Hundreds of songs, maybe thousands.

“What am I supposed to do,” he asked, staring at the giant list. “Listen to all of them?”

“No, no,” Pidge beamed. “Just your favorites.”

Lance frowned. “How do I know which ones are my favorites if I don’t remember them?”

Pidge tapped a setting. “Sort them by rating. You were always really diligent about organizing your music, so you can narrow it down to just your top rated tracks.” She clicked a few times and the music list re-organized, going from thousands to just under a hundred.

“Try listening to them,” Pidge handed him the tablet. “Who knows, they might trigger a memory or two.”

After she left, Lance found a pair of headphones in the bag that Keith had packed for him, and took the tablet and journal up to the observation deck again. It was mostly deserted, so he found a quiet corner and started listening.

He recognized a few tracks from before they left earth. The rest of them were new and unfamiliar but they were good, some of them with a pop beat or a thumping bass like a dance track. Lance kept his journal open to a new page in case anything came to him. One track with a snappy beat and fun lyrics made Lance think of a party, of Pidge being maybe drunk.

A soft track started. He checked the tablet and didn’t recognize the name, but something stirred in his chest as it played. Lance closed his eyes to concentrate and -

He’s dancing.

He’s dancing and he’s happy, so happy his chest might burst. The hand that holds his is sweating but he doesn’t care, he feels like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. A strong arm is looped around the small of his back, a pair of dark eyes shine in front of him and it’s the only thing he can see, the only thing he ever wants to see again.

When the song ended, Lance couldn’t stop the wide grin that took over his face as he wrote the experience down. The memory of that intense joy clung to him for the rest of the day.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert: it was actually Keith who found Lance passed out in their bed (￢‿￢ )
> 
> also, the piece that Keith is playing is one half of [Prelude from The Gadfly, Op. 97 by Sjostakovich.](https://youtu.be/zO5JL6ngNfE)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops sorry it's torment Lance o'clock!
> 
> Also to those who noticed that Keith was playing one half of a duet in the last chapter... yeeeeeep. Thank you so much for your comments! They give me so much life :D

Lance was surprised at how smoothly the whole ‘regaining memories’ thing was going. He expected more difficulty, more pain.

He should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.

Out in the desert sun, he was with Pidge, having rode their hover bikes out past the Garrison fences. It was a beautiful day, and since monsoon season had just passed, the normally barren desert was stained green and dotted with color as wildflowers sprang up from the earth, brought to life by the recent rains.

Pidge was taking readings with a tablet and chatting away about how the earth had changed since they returned. Lance knelt down to get a closer look at a group of bright yellow Mallow blossoms, but when he looked up…

A Galra cruiser was in the sky, bearing down on him, its shadow falling over him. The dry desert air filled his lungs, sand and dust, leaving a metallic tang on his tongue. His shield lodged in the ground in front of him, his bayard heavy in his hands, the Red Lion nowhere to be found. Veronica was behind him, unconscious. This was the end. Lance let his eyes slide shut as he accepted his fate, his failure, sending out a final prayer that the others could succeed in his place.

_Lance?_

He just made it back to earth. Back home. And now he was going to die.

_Lance!_

I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry Veronica, Mom, Dad, everyone. Shiro. Keith.

_Can you hear me? Lance!_

Keith, I’m so sorry…

A hand slapped against his cheek. Lance sucked in a sharp breath and tipped forward, catching himself on his hands. When he opened his eyes, he saw the flowers crushed beneath his palm. Something warm and wet ran over his lips, a drop of red landed against the back of his hand. Lance looked up and saw Pidge’s face, her golden eyes wide and full of panic. Then the sky, empty of any cruisers, only blue. Then nothing.

He woke up in a hospital bed.

Keith was beside him, sitting on a chair with his tablet in his hand, tapping away. Lance groaned a little as he shifted. His head hurt so much.

“Lance?”

His mouth was dry. “What happened?” he asked. Or at least tried to.

With a tap Keith set his tablet aside. “You passed out. Pidge brought you back here.”

Lance tried to nod, but hissed as a sharp stab of pain shot through his skull. “Head hurts,” he muttered. A hand ran through his hair.

“I’ll get the doctor.”

The rest of the day went by in a haze. Lance was put through tests, blood was drawn, he dozed off as various brain scanners were put on his head. Finally he was given an injection that soothed the pounding in his skull and let him fall into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke up again, it was Veronica by his bedside. His head still hurt but much less than before. Several doctors came to see him, and as he told them what happened, it became clear that he remembered the battle to liberate earth from Galra occupation.

“You saved my life that day,” Veronica told him with a smile.

Lance was given bland hospital food to eat, then his journal was returned to him. He made a few notes, but he didn’t have to write that memory down. He’d never forget it again; the heat, the fear. The resignation and sorrow.

 

Lance was released the next day, under strict orders to take it easy for the rest of the week. He spent a good deal of time with Hunk and Shiro - who, he noted, had a gold band around his left ring finger. Before he could even ask about it, he saw himself in a white tux, throwing flowers and cheering.

“You’re married,” Lance said to him. Shiro smiled.

“Yes. Do you remember?”

Lance shrugged. “A little? I can’t picture who you married, though.”

Shiro nodded. “I’ll introduce you.”

He had coffee with Keith again, this time on Garrison property. Keith told Lance a story of a small cat-like creature he discovered on a distant planet, and how if it wasn’t for its corrosive saliva that could melt steel, it would probably make an amazing house pet. Lance laughed a little, though he still felt vaguely disconnected from reality.

More meetings with his therapist, and it sort of helped to see how optimistic he was about Lance’s recovery. His journal was getting more use, even if most of the content was still without any context. _Patience,_ Lance told himself. _Patience._

 

One afternoon, Shiro took Lance through the southern wing, where the junior cadet classes were taught. Lance hadn’t been here in ages, not since he was a cadet himself, short and scrawny and - he remembered Keith, just as small and even scrawnier, who Lance had set his sights on when he was eleven years old.

And now they were married. He had to admit, it was pretty funny from an objective viewpoint.

Shiro was explaining new junior programs as they walked by classrooms, and Lance caught the eye of a cadet through the door window as they passed.

They were several feet away when Lance heard a door open behind them, and turned to see the student he’d made eye contact with standing in the hallway, staring at him wide-eyed.

“Mister McClain!”

Then the cadet was barreling towards him, slamming into Lance and wrapping his skinny arms around Lance’s middle. “Mister McClain,” his squeaky voice was muffled against Lance’s shirt. “I missed you!”

He didn’t have a chance to react before a dozen other children came piling out of the classroom, chanting his name, gathering around him in a sea of orange and white uniforms. The few that were closest to Lance hugged at him. They couldn’t have been older than eight or nine at most.

“Mister McClain, we missed you!”

“Mister McClain, they said you got really hurt!”

“When are you coming back to teach us, Mister McClain?”

Lance looked to Shiro, panicked. Fourteen pairs of eyes were staring at him, waiting for an answer, and he didn’t have one.

“Now, now, everyone,” Shiro cut in with a smile. “Mister McClain is still healing, so don’t be rough with him.”

Immediately two students backed off.

“Are you okay, Mister McClain?” a little girl to his left asked. “I was really worried!”

Lance looked down at her, two giant brown eyes pleading. It reminded him of Nadia. He might not have any clue what was happening, but if nothing else, Lance knew how to handle kids.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” Lance put on his best smile and dropped to one knee, then held out his hand, palm up. “I’m alright, see?”

A little boy with round cheeks tugged at his sleeve. “But when are you coming back?”

He had no idea, really. He didn’t even know he was ever here in the first place - but these kids were looking up at him like he was their world.

“I’ll be back as soon as my doctor says it’s okay.” A few ‘aw’s come from the group, and Lance laughed a little. “Can you be good for me until then?”

The children nodded, some of them muttering affirmations. A girl in the back dashed back into the classroom, coming back with a sheet of paper in her hand and pushing her way through her classmates towards Lance.

“Mister McClain,” she thrust the paper at him. “I drew this for you!”

Lance took the paper, and immediately smiled. It was a drawing of the blue lion, crude and boxy, rendered in colored pencil. It was flying through was he guessed was space, surrounded by splotchy black and dark blue, with white pointy stars all around it. At the bottom, in shaky cursive, ‘by Bethany.’

“It’s wonderful,” he told her. “Thank you, Bethany.”

Another tug on his sleeve. The boy from before pointed his eyes up at Lance and wow, that puppy stare was _lethal._ “I’ve been good, Mister McClain,” he said. “Just like I promised I would be!”

Something clicked in Lance, a piece of information slotting into place in his mind. The world came into focus a little as he turned to face the boy. “Have you been practicing the piano like your mother asked you to?”

The boy’s eyes glittered. “Yes!”

Another boy with dark skin and wild hair raised his hand, waving it around. “Mister McClain, I made the soccer team!”

To his side, a girl with bright orange pigtails and endless freckles bounced on her feet. “I went to the science fair! I got third place!”

Lance beamed at them. “Roger, Abigail, I’m very proud of you both.” And it was true, he was _so proud_ of them, his chest feeling full and light.

“Alright, class,” An adult voice came from the hallway. A woman in an officer’s uniform stood next to the open classroom door, a small smile on her otherwise stern face. “Back to your seats, now. Mister McClain probably has business to attend to.”

A chorus of disappointed moans rose from the group of children, and Lance laughed a little. “Now, now, be patient, everyone. I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise.”

There were pouts and even a few sniffles as Lance hugged each of them, standing and waving as they filed back into the classroom. Their teacher nodded at him, then went inside, shutting the door behind her.

Lance looked down at the drawing in his hands and smiled.

“That was your junior class,” Shiro’s voice came in from his left. Lance jumped, startled out of his reverie. “Did you remember them?”

Looking down at the drawing, Lance frowned a little. “I… I dunno.” He didn’t remember being a teacher, but - but he knew those student’s names. He knew that boy played piano, the girl who entered the science fair, the boy who was trying out for soccer. Didn’t he?

Shiro’s hand gripped his shoulder. “You have a reputation around here,” he explained. “For being the most beloved teacher in the Garrison.”

Lance blinked. “I am?”

Shiro’s grin was wide as he put a hand to Lance’s back, leading him down the hallway. “Yes, you are.”

 

.


	7. Chapter 7

Hunk had to leave to return to work out in space. It seemed his prowess in the kitchen had made many otherwise impossible peace talks go unexpectedly smoothly - that was Hunk for you. Lance wasn’t surprised in the slightest.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Hunk asked him. “I can stay for a bit more if you need me.”

Lance smiled and patted Hunk’s shoulder. “Nah, I’m good. I’ve got Shiro, Pidge, and my sister here to keep an eye on me.”

“And Keith,” Hunk added. Lance’s cheeks felt warm.

“And Keith.”

Hunk hugged him tight for several minutes straight, Lance’s feet leaving the ground. “Call me if you need anything,” he said, then Lance was waving goodbye as his oldest friend boarded a large transport cruiser.

Lance went to the market in the neighboring town again - he was a little annoyed that he had to get clearance from his doctor to leave Garrison grounds - and poked around the stalls and shops. It was like something out of an role playing game or a fantasy novel, all bright colors and glittering gems and strange but enticing aromas. More than one seller recognized him, some shouting “it’s the Blue Paladin!” as he walked by, Lance shyly waving in return. Some offered him free samples; meat on skewers, little sweets that reminded him of Turkish Delight, a tiny vial of rich-smelling oil. He was having a great time when he almost literally ran into Keith, their shoulders bumping as he rounded a corner.

“Hey,” Lance stuttered a little, clearing his throat to steady his voice. “What are you up to?”

Keith gestured at the paper bag in his hand. He was wearing a black and red leather flight jacket, his long hair hanging loose around his shoulders. “Just picking up some stuff.”

“Cool, cool.”

Lance could already feel the awkwardness creeping in.

“Is your head okay?” Keith asked as they both stepped to the side to stop blocking the street.

Lance nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Taking it easy.”

“That’s good.”

Oh boy, there it was, their conversation quickly becoming stifled and tense. He’d thought they’d made progress - why was this still so hard?

_Because you don’t know where ‘friend’ ends and ‘husband’ begins._

“Um.” Keith shifted his weight. “Have you eaten?”

It was after four in the afternoon, and Lance was feeling peckish if he thought about it. “Not yet,” he admitted. “Want to, uh, grab a bite? I don’t know what’s around here, though.”

Keith blushed, straight up blushed. “Oh, um. Actually, I was thinking I could cook us something…?”

Lance stared at him, vaguely hearing a record scratch somewhere in his mind. “You can _cook?”_

Then Keith smiled and _wow._ Lance had never really seen Keith smile that much, but it was sort of amazing, a wide crooked grin that showed off a sharp canine tooth. How did someone who scowled professionally turn out to have a ten-thousand megawatt smile?

“A little,” Keith answered.

Okay, so Confident Keith was something else. “This,” Lance answered, “I gotta see.”

“Let me grab a few things.”

Keith led him around the market, buying a cut of meat, several large prawns, a package of noodles and a few bunches of herbs, paying with odd coins that Lance had never seen. They rode back in Keith’s car, then chatted idly as they walked back to their apartment together. Lance hesitated in the doorway when they entered. He hadn’t been back here since he’d explored and then passed out on the bed.

Keith went straight for the kitchen and tied up his hair before unloading his groceries, the chain around his neck standing out against his fair skin. Lance slowly made to follow, but stopped at a bookshelf, where a photo of himself and his brother Marco sat, more framed pictures of himself and Keith around it. Lance picked it up and examined it; he and his brother were in springsuits with the ocean behind them.

Lance squinted. “This is Varadero Beach.”

He heard Keith’s footsteps as he approached. “Yeah, it was your mom’s birthday.” He motioned for the frame and Lance handed it over. “It’s actually an album,” Keith explained, tapping the photo twice. The image of Lance and Marco dissolved and was replaced by a gallery.  “All of these,” he pointed at the other frames on the shelf, “Are digital albums. Feel free to look through them.”

Keith returned to the kitchen, and Lance took a seat at the bar that divided the living space and scrolled through photos. His mother’s 50th birthday was a beach barbecue, with everyone there. There were dozens of photos, most of them of his family laughing. One of the shots was of Lance and Keith, their cheeks smashed together as they grinned at the camera, Keith’s face tinged pink with an impending sunburn. Lance frowned, then scrolled back up - Keith wasn’t in most of the photos. He must have been the one taking all of them.

Keith had set to work making dinner, and from the look of it, he’d made this recipe a lot, moving through the kitchen with practiced ease. “When did you learn how to cook?” Lance asked.

Pausing where he was deftly slicing a sweet pepper, Keith frowned in thought. “Um, a year ago? You were complaining about being the only one who knew how to cook. So I learned.”

“Oh.”

“Hunk taught me a lot,” Keith finished slicing the pepper and added it to a simmering sauce pot on the stove. “The basics. The rest was just learning how to follow recipes.”

Lance smiled. “My mom always said that if you can read, you can cook.”

Chuckling, Keith stirred the larger pot. “You say that, but the first meal I cooked for you made you sick.”

 _Stroganoff,_ Lance’s brain chimed. It was stroganoff. Right?

“It’s almost ready. Can you grab some drinks from the fridge? The ones you like are in the bottom drawer, the yellow bottles.”

Lance did as he was told, grabbing two drinks and bringing them to the dining table. Keith followed a minute later, setting a large bowl down in front of Lance and--

“Whoa.”

This was _not_ novice cooking. This looked like something out of a five star restaurant, a deep bowl of broth and noodles and beef, with steamed prawns and vegetables, topped with herbs and peppers. It smelled amazing. Keith went for the fridge, then set a red bottle by Lance before taking a seat and picking up his chopsticks. Lance examined the bottle, but it was in another language. Korean?

“Gochujang,” Keith supplied. “I don’t like spicy food, so you always add your own hot sauce.”

Lance started eating and damn. _Damn._ This was good, crazy good. Keith must have had a natural talent for cooking, the broth complex and rich and perfectly complemented by the beef and peppers. They talked a little bit while eating, and once they were done, Keith started to stand up, reaching for both bowls.

“Oh no you don’t,” Lance stood, stopping Keith’s hand. His mother had taught him one very important lesson, and he’d be damned if memory loss wiped it away. “Whoever cooks does not also do the dishes, house rules.”

Keith blinked, then backed away with a smile. Lance still needed a bit of direction, being in an unfamiliar kitchen, but it turned out it could all just go in the dishwasher without preamble, even the pots and pans. While Lance wiped the counters clean, Keith poured a handful of little cookies into a bowl.

Lance turned to him, and Keith gestured to the living room. “Wanna play some Mario Kart?”

Narrowing his eyes, Lance put on his game face. “Oh, you’re _on,_ dude.”

They took the cookies to the couch and Keith handed Lance a blue controller, taking up a red one for himself. They even color coded their game stuff. Keith, it turned out, was no slouch at Mario Kart, and could be downright evil when he wanted to be. There was more than a bit of friendly rivalry, each of them reaching over to the other’s controller in an attempt at sabotage several times. The bowl of cookies slowly emptied as they snacked while playing.

Keith’s tablet pinged several times, and at the end of a race, he picked it up and frowned. “Hey, go ahead and play without me for a minute,” he said, standing. “I gotta call my mom.”

Keith went to the bedroom and Lance could hear him say hello to Krolia before the door shut. He went through another two races before Keith returned, looking a little upset. Lance put down his controller.

“Everything okay?”

Keith bit at his lip. “I have to go.” Lance cocked an eyebrow at him, and Keith sighed. “The Blades need me. I’m still sort of acting commander, and a recent mission just went pear-shaped.”

“Oh.” Lance frowned. “When do you have to leave?”

“Right away.”

Keith left Lance to play another race while he gathered up a bundle of clothes and went into the bathroom, the sound of the shower following soon after. Lance lost all the other races he tried, too distracted. Was this normal for Keith, to just have to leave out of nowhere? Was the work he did dangerous? Should Lance be worried?

Fifteen minutes later Keith emerged, dressed in his high-ranking Blade of Marmora armor, his damp hair braided over one shoulder. He looked tall and noble, but Lance couldn’t shake the feeling that he really didn’t want to see it, the sight somehow sad.

Lance walked Keith to the flight deck where his ship was - Keith had _his own ship._ It shouldn’t surprise Lance, it really shouldn’t. It was a small craft that looked to be a mixture of Earth, Altean, and Galra design, sleek and black with purple and blue highlights. The cockpit opened and Keith turned to Lance.

“I’ll call you,” he said. Then his jaw was working, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should.

“Be safe,” Lance said, and it felt like the right thing to say. Like he’d said it before. Keith’s worried expression melted into something soft and fond, and he smiled sweetly.

“Always.”

Lance watched Keith’s ship fly into a wormhole from a window, a strange longing in his chest.

He returned to the apartment. Having spent time with Keith in here, it didn’t feel as alien or uncomfortable. Maybe he would stay here - this was his place, wasn’t it? Lance reasoned he should probably get used to it. He couldn’t just stay in a single dorm forever.

The small home seemed too empty with just him in it. Lance went to the bookshelf with the digital photo albums and picked up another one, this one with himself in an officer’s uniform as the cover photo. The album, it seemed, was of the beginning of his teaching career. There were several photos of Lance at a desk, with his smiling students, standing in the front of a classroom as a projector painted a diagram of a black hole on the wall behind him. Something that might have been a memory stirred in him at the sight. Keith was absent in most of these photos as well, except at the end, where he was next to Lance, an arm looped around his waist and pressing a kiss into his cheek - a photo taken of their reflections in a mirror.

Keith looked proud.

Lance smiled. It had been a pretty big shock to wake up and find he’d married his childhood rival, but… it didn’t seem so bad now. This apartment, the photos on the shelf, the life they’d built - it felt happy. Full. All the little details that surrounded him spoke of a joyful home, of two people who cared for each other deeply. When he was out in space, a secret fear had always eaten at Lance, a fear that he’d die out in some distant galaxy, fighting a war he had no business being in. A fear that he’d never have the kind of love and happiness that he saw in his parents before he died.

He had it now. He might not remember it all, but he had it. Didn’t he?

 _You do,_ a voice in his head told him. _You do._

 

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh you know he do


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content warning for this chapter. Thank you for your feedback!

Lance was in the process of closing out his temporary dorm rental when his tablet pinged with a text message from Keith.

_Arrived at Blade headquarters. Might go dark for a few days. Kosmo and Mom say hi._

There was something weirdly familiar about the stiff, clipped message, as though it were normal for Keith to be painfully succinct over text. Lance smiled, pocketing his tablet and taking his bag to their apartment. The sun had long set and he was tired, so Lance dug through the dresser until he found some clean pajamas and headed for the shower.

This shower was nice, so much nicer than the dorm and way nicer than anything they’d had on the castle. Lance took his time, enjoying the wide spray of hot water and the smell of the shampoo - it was so, so familiar. He supposed that made sense, he’d read once that smell was tied to memory more than any other senses. Something about his smell receptors being directly connected to his brain via his sinuses.

Teeth brushed and skin moisturized, Lance sank into the bed (the right side, which was probably his, given how the pillow on the left smelled like Keith) and sighed loudly. It was easily the most comfortable bed he’d ever been in, cradling him from all sides as though it were made to fit his body. Snuggling down under the sheets, Lance hugged his pillow and faded into the most restful sleep he’d had since waking up in the hospital.

 

\-----

 

Two days later, Lance was finally cleared for physical activity by his doctors. He’d had a sort of restless itch under his skin for weeks, the kind of anxiousness that came with too much sitting around. First he hit the pool in the lower levels, swimming laps until his arms and legs ached. Once he was dry and dressed, Lance ate a quick lunch, determined to get down to the hanger bay to take Kinkade up on his offer for a ride in his MFE.

He ran into Pidge on his way there. It still threw him for a loop to see her nearly a foot taller than she’d been before.

“Hey Lance!” She greeted. “On your way to see Carmen?”

He blinked. “Carmen? Who’s that?”

A wide, mischievous smile slowly split Pidge’s face. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him in the opposite direction. “Oh, you gotta meet her again!”

As Pidge led him to the armory, Lance desperately searched his brain for anyone named Carmen, but nothing came up. Not even a tiny shred of who she could be. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely registered Pidge signing them in, or pulling his hand to a panel where his fingerprints were scanned.

With a beep and a hiss, a large panel opened in front of him, lights flickering on. Lance traced the contents with his eyes, inhaling slowly.

“This,” Pidge flourished her hand, “Is Carmen.”

Sleek, elegant, with metallic purple finish and the phrase _“el amor es un pájaro rebelde”_ emblazoned in white across the stock.

Carmen wasn’t a person. Carmen was a _rifle._

“Whoa.”

Beside him, Pidge bounced on her heels. “Want to take her for some target practice?”

Lance traced the barrel of the gun with his fingers. “Oh _hell_ yes.”

With the rifle in his hands, Lance entered the training deck. Carmen was shockingly light, perfectly balanced with a sharp scope. It reminded him of his bayard.

“I’m loading up a basic target simulation,” Pidge’s voice came over the intercom. “Nothing stressful. Have fun!”

A few beeps, and stationary targets materialized throughout the course, several of them in high places. Lance rolled his shoulders and lifted the scope to his eye. The first four targets went down in rapid succession, the next three took a little more aiming. Carmen was incredibly responsive, with retina tracking that locked on to targets almost faster than Lance could sight them. A long beep signified the end of the training program, and Lance let out a low whistle.

 _“Continue training sequence?”_ The computer’s voice prompted. Lance grinned.

“Continue.”

Level two had moving targets, providing a little more of a challenge. As he shot, Lance felt his blood rush in his veins. It gave him a high, his vision narrowing into his scope as he went through program after program. Targets began to shoot back, making Lance dive for cover, peeking out with his scope to take out drones with deadly precision. There was a ripple down his spine, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end - and Lance pulled a segmented blade from Carmen’s stock to slice the drone at his back in half. The remaining drones buzzed, flying for the far side of the room, dipping behind cover and out of sight.

Something tugged at Lance’s mind. With his left hand, he clicked a switch on the side of the grip, taking the small box that popped out and whipping it upwards. A small cable whizzed out, a hook on the end attaching to the ceiling. Lance tugged on the cable and was jerked upwards into the air, and as he stilled at the height of his jump, he leveled his scope at the remaining drones and took them all out in a fast line of shots.

He tucked and rolled as he landed, coming to a stop in the center of the room, his chest heaving with his labored breath.

“End training level ten.”

Sound crashed into his ears, loud enough to make Lance wince. Pidge was at his side suddenly.

“Whoa, Lance! That was awesome!”

Lance stared at the rifle in his hands, vaguely aware that he was sweating. “I…” he swallowed. “I don’t know how I did that.”

Pidge tapped at her chin. “Maybe it was muscle memory? You looked pretty in the zone.”

Together they returned to the armory, where Lance let one of the attendants take Carmen to be cleaned and serviced. “Did I use this rifle a lot?”

“Sort of,” Pidge answered, fiddling with her tablet. “Though the last time you used it was--” she cut herself off, her lips pressing together.

Lance didn’t like the far away look in her eyes. “What…?”

Sighing, Pidge lowered her tablet. “It… was when you got hurt. When you lost your memory.”

Oh. “What happened?”

Pidge shook her head, putting a hand to Lance’s back and leading him out of the armory. “That’s a question better left for Keith.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

 

\-----

 

After another meeting with his therapist, Lance found the courage to look through the photo albums in his bedroom. Specifically, the ones on the dresser that he’d been avoiding.

The first was the white leather book on the shelf. It was a formal wedding album, with printed photos instead of digital. They were lovely, artistic, many in black and white. Lance saw his father adjusting his tie as his mother smiled in the background; in another, Shiro pinned a boutonniere to Keith’s vest. A photo of the two of them at the altar, hand in hand, followed by one where Keith had his fingers pressed over his eyes, tears plainly visible on his cheeks.

Lance couldn’t stop the smile that crept over his face. Keith crying during their vows was unexpected… and _incredibly_ sweet. He should have known he was secretly a hopeless romantic.

The digital albums were next, and these photos were far more candid. Shots of the ring exchange, of their first kiss, walking down the aisle together as guests threw bright pink flower petals at them. Lance squinted - the petals looked to be the same as the ones pinned in each of their vests. It was the flower that was all over the fields at his parent’s farm. Juni-something.

When he got to the photos of the reception, Lance had to blink. It was _lavish,_ flowers and candles and glittering centerpieces on every table. The wedding cake was six tiers tall, with delicate frosting details and sugar flowers covering the surface. In the background of an image of Lance and Keith cutting the cake, Hunk stood, dressed in a white chef’s coat and beaming.

Lance was dialing his friend’s number on his tablet before he realized it.

“Hey, Lance!” Hunk picked up quickly, his grin filling the screen. “What’s up?”

“Did you cater my wedding?” Lance blurted. Hunk blinked, then smiled.

“Sure did, buddy. Although Keith gets credit for planning it.”

Lance looked down at the album in his hands, at the incredibly extravagant ceremony and reception. “He did?”

“Oh yeah,” Hunk said, leaning back. “It was a big deal to him. He spared no expense - Keith wanted you to have the fairytale wedding of your dreams. It was sort of a wedding present, I think.”

Lance felt his face warm. “Huh.”

Hunk smiled at him. “Did you remember?”

Setting the album aside, Lance shook his head. “Nah, just found some photos.” He paused. “Was our wedding really that nice?”

“Yeah,” Hunk confirmed. “It was amazing.”

Lance said goodbye to Hunk and kept going through photos. Near the end was a video file, so he tapped it and let it play. As soon as it began, Lance inhaled a sharp breath.

This song. It was the song in his playlist, the one he didn’t recognize but had made joy burst inside him. It was playing now as Keith led him in a gentle rhythm across a dance floor, smiling sweetly. Lance leaned back. _Their first dance._ That’s what had made him feel so happy.

He watched the video two more times before putting the album away.

 

\-----

 

Keith called two days later. He looked tired, his hair coming loose from the braid over his shoulder, but he smiled at Lance.

“Hi, Lance.”

Setting his book aside, Lance leaned into the couch cushions and adjusted his tablet. “Hey. How’s things with the Blades?”

Smiling, Keith’s shoulders relaxed. “A little better than I was expecting, which is always good. We might be able to make it out of this one without a fight.”

Lance frowned. “Do you need some help?”

“Nah, we’ve got it covered.”

Keith sounded sure, but something tugged at Lance’s gut, something that made him apprehensive. “You sure? I got re-acquainted with Carmen, I could come--”

“No!”

Jerking, Lance leaned away from the tablet, blinking wide at the outburst. For just a second, Keith’s face had been so hard and fierce, his eyes changing for one tiny moment. Then he softened, his eyes closing as he breathed deep.

“Sorry,” Keith’s voice was low. “Didn’t mean to yell.”

There was definitely something he was missing here. “Keith?”

Before he answered, Keith took a long moment to chew on his lip and look anywhere but at Lance. “It’s just….” Another deep breath. “The last time you came on a mission with me, you got hurt.”

Frowning, Lance tilted his head. He got hurt a lot, it was just sort of his nature to be a magnet for disaster. Then Pidge’s words came to mind. _That’s a question better left for Keith._

“Hey, is that --” there wasn’t really a delicate way to ask. “Is that how I lost my memory?”

The look on Keith’s face reminded Lance of the hospital, when he first woke up, how hurt and shocked he was. “Yeah,” Keith answered slowly.

“What happened?”

Keith sighed loudly, running his fingers through his hair, pulling more loose from the braid. “It’s… You…” Then he went quiet, his gaze far away.

“You were protecting me,” he finally said, his voice hoarse and quiet. “You took a hit for me, and then you just… wouldn’t wake up.” Keith looked up, his eyes wet. “I asked you to come on that mission with me. It’s my fault this happened to you.”

It took Lance a couple of minutes to digest this new information. He wasn’t surprised that he had no memory of the accident that deleted six years of his life, and he doubted he ever would. But getting his ass kicked defending Keith? He could see that happening. Easily.

“Well,” Lance said, smiling. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Keith blinked, a tear rolling down his cheek. It took a bit, but he finally smiled, sniffling loudly. “Yeah, you are.”

 

\-----

 

In his dream, it was a beautiful day. Perfectly sunny, breezy. Lance felt so at peace. Keith was by his side, holding flowers, wearing a ring. His smile was so beautiful, leaning in to Lance, scooping him up into his strong arms. Lance laughed as a kiss was pressed into his cheek, a whisper of _I love you_ on the wind. This was perfect, calm and lovely, wrapped up in Keith’s embrace. Keith, all around him, kissing his palm. Then Keith pulling at his clothes, kissing down his chest. Keith behind him, inside him, moving so gently and making Lance groan and shake.

Lance awoke with a shudder, jerking violently under the sheets. His whole body felt too hot, too tight. Shifting, his sleep pants pulled against his skin, making him gasp, hypersensitive. He was hard, too, achingly so, every inch of him thrumming with need. He breathed deep, and caught it - the other pillow. With one hand, he reached out and pulled it against his face, inhaling, filling his lungs. Keith’s scent. It still lingered on the pillow, making Lance’s heart thump against his ribs. His other hand was snaking beneath his boxers before he even registered the motion.

He barely had to touch himself at all before he was coming, his ragged cry muffled by the pillow. Trembling, Lance withdrew his hand and stared at the ceiling. The room felt too empty.

He wished Keith would come home.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> widowmaker Lance is best Lance, thank you for coming to my ted talk


	9. Chapter 9

When he awoke the next morning, Lance groaned and sat up. His boxers were sticky and uncomfortable, and… he didn’t mind. He’d dreamed of Keith, of his hands and mouth all over his skin, making love to him. He expected to be upset, to freak out - but it just didn’t matter for some reason. It felt normal somehow. Yawning, Lance went for the shower. As he shampooed his hair, he thought about his rifle, how muscle memory had guided him, and wondered if his body remembered Keith, even if his mind didn’t.

 

Lance got a call from Keith three days later, and immediately dropped what he was doing to answer.

“Hi, Lance.”

Keith sounded exhausted, his voice scratchy and weak. There was no image of him on Lance’s tablet screen. “Keith?” Lance asked. Something felt amiss. “Why don’t you have your camera on?”

There was a grunt, the audio wavelength display jerking. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. How are you feeling?”

He wasn’t falling for this. Keith was always a terrible liar - a side effect of him being painfully blunt - and apparently he hadn’t gotten any better with age. _“Keith.”_

Silence, followed by an exasperated sigh. With a blip, the screen on Lance’s tablet flashed, and an image appeared. Lance gasped.

Keith looked _horrible._ Bandages littered his skin, around his neck, peeking out from under his hair, some of them tinged red. Both of his eyes were bloodshot and blackened on the underside like his nose had been broken, his bottom lip swollen and split.

“Oh god, Keith,” Lance covered his mouth with his free hand, feeling vaguely sick. “What happened?”

Sighing again, Keith closed his eyes briefly. “I’m okay, Lance, really. It’s all superficial. Nothing serious.”

Lance had so many questions. Did the mission go wrong? Had they lost anyone? Was this a regular occurrence for Keith, to be put through a shredder on his missions? They crammed in his throat, sticking, refusing to come out.

“Sorry,” Keith said. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Lance was overcome with the need to get to him, to be by Keith’s side, to soothe his wounds. It pounded against his rib cage, angry and desperate and frightened. “When are you coming back?”

Something flickered in Keith’s eyes. He managed a small, half-smile. “I’m not sure yet. There’s a lot of cleanup to do, but the worst of it is over.”

It didn’t really ease Lance’s anxiety to hear that. “Just… be careful. Okay?”

Keith nodded. “I will.”

 

\-----

 

Swimming laps in the Garrison’s olympic sized pool became a regular thing for Lance. After the first week, he learned that if he waited until after nine in the morning, all the soldiers and students would be in class or on duty and it would be nearly empty. It was freeing, Lance able to turn his brain off and just swim, cutting through the water in a powerful butterfly stroke.

He sat on the edge of the pool to catch his breath. There were a few others swimming, including a tall, dark-skinned man with an impressive freestyle on the far end; Lance though he recognized him, but couldn’t place him. As he surveyed the pool, Lance felt a tug of a memory - of the pool being built. Excitement for its completion, and a tinge of sadness as he recalled swimming here after... after Allura. When they were over. The water brought him comfort when little else would.

Lance had thought about their time together, seeing if he could dredge up any memories. He’d vaguely recalled confessing under a glowing tree, kissing Allura, feeling happy. Then unease, as they tried to carve out a tiny place for themselves in the midst of a war.

He headed for the lockers to shower and dress, and Lance realized that while he remembered the basics of how he and Allura’s relationship began, he was clueless as to how he got together with Keith. He had to laugh at himself a little. _That’s sort of important._ Once back in his apartment, Lance sat on the couch and called Hunk.

His friend answered, looking a little sweaty, his face splattered with what appeared to be flour.

“Um,” Lance grimaced. “Is this a bad time?”

Hunk’s eyes darted around. “No, it’s -- Hey, Sal!” he yelled to someone in the background. “I gotta take this, okay? Be back in five dobashes.”

The camera view smeared a bit as Hunk started to move. Then a door clicked, and Hunk came back into view, sighing loudly, his breath a visible puff in front of him.

“Sorry,” Hunk said. “Things are a little crazy right now.”

Lance frowned. “Should I let you go?”

“No, no, it’s okay.” Hunk leaned against a box covered in alien writing. “I honestly needed a break.”

“So you’re hiding in the walk-in freezer?”

“You know me.” Hunk smiled. “What can I do for you, man?”

Lance shifted on the couch. “I was thinking, and I don’t remember how Keith and I got together. Do you know?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said, raising an eyebrow. “But shouldn’t you ask Keith that?”

“He’s out on a mission with the Blades,” Lance hugged one of the throw pillows that littered the couch. “So he’s sort of unreachable.”

“Ah. Yeah, I know how it happened - _everyone_ does.”

Lance wasn’t sure if he liked the sound of that. “Okay?”

Hunk shifted again, wiping the flour from his face with his free hand. “It was after you got that scar on your face. There was a small uprising of Galra rebels, so you, Keith, and a few others went to suppress it. During a big fight, you jumped in front of Keith to shield him.” Hunk frowned. “Man, it was bad. _Really_ bad. While you were bleeding out and everyone was scrambling, Keith told you he loved you, right in front of everyone.”

“...Oh.”

There was a memory there, tiny and far away, but there. Pain, weakness, fear. _Please don’t leave me, Lance, I love you, I love you --_

“There wasn’t a dry eye on the entire ship, we all thought you were gonna die. But you,” Hunk grinned, “Are a very difficult man to kill, apparently. You made it through.”

Lance wanted to roll his eyes. He needed a counter for how many times he’d almost died since the day they found the Blue Lion. “So I guess Keith and I got together after that?”

Hunk groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. “Oh man, I _wish._ No, for some reason, the two of you felt the need to spend the next _five months_ circling each other like hungry sharks. There was a betting pool going on when you’d finally get together.”

Lance’s cheeks went hot, mortified. “Oh my god.”

“Seriously,” Hunk said with a grimace, gesturing wildly with his hand. “You were engaging in the most intense eye sex I’ve ever seen. It… got weird.”

“So,” Lance’s voice cracked a little, he cleared his throat to steady it. “What happened then?”

Hunk shrugged. “Dunno. One day you two weren’t an item, then the next day you were. You’ll probably have to ask Keith about it.”

Lance chewed his lip. He said goodbye to Hunk and pocketed his tablet.

 

\-----

 

It was days later, when Lance was walking through the flight deck that it came to him. Something about where he was standing, the noise and chatter of pilots and crew around him making something bubble up in his mind. Keith, in his Marmora armor, disembarking from a ship. Meeting Lance. Walking together, a small duffel bag in one of Keith’s hands.

Lance followed the memory, carefully tracing the path he saw himself walking before, to the east exit. A service hallway sat to the left, quiet and empty. Lance put his hand on the wall and closed his eyes to focus.

Keith, by his side, his gaze dark and smoldering. Tension between them, innuendo, loaded words. Baiting each other, both of them daring the other to make a move. Then Keith’s grip around his bicep, pulling him into the hallway, pinning Lance against a wall.

 _"What would you do,”_ Keith had whispered against his mouth, _“If I kissed you right now?"_

 _"Dunno,"_ Lance answered, his heart hammering in his chest. _"Maybe you should try it and find out."_

Then Keith kissed him, fierce and forceful and Lance’s lip bled but it was like a dam breaking, Lance’s mind chanting _finally, finally._ Keith’s bag hit the floor as he pressed their bodies together, Lance digging his fingers into Keith’s hair and tugging. Keith’s hands leaving bruises on his waist with the strength of his grip. It wasn’t until they heard an announcement over the loudspeaker that they broke apart, panting, remembering they were on the flight deck, barely out of sight in the small service corridor.

Then Keith took Lance by the hand, grabbed his bag, and went straight back to Lance’s room, bypassing a confused and alarmed Shiro and locking the door behind them. They both missed an important meeting that day, but Lance shivered, remembering how he’d curled into Keith’s chest in the afterglow, both of them sweaty and naked, and thought that this was where he wanted to be forever.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always appreciated :D


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> home stretch!! Thank you everyone for reading and leaving comments :D As always, feedback is welcome!

The following Monday, Lance found his desk in the teacher’s offices.

It was cluttered, papers and files and tablets strewn everywhere. The staff had left it as-is when he’d been hurt, assuming he’d be back to work soon. But now it was covered in a layer of dust, untouched in the three weeks Lance had spent in a coma, and the month that followed after he’d woken up.

His coworkers re-introduced themselves, and then Lance pushed his sleeves up his forearms and set to cleaning his desk. He thumbed through the papers, organizing them by date, then checked through each of the tablets. They contained student rosters, lesson plans, notes, and field trip ideas - some of them sounded like fun. He’d have to take his class on them.

It seemed daunting at first, going back to teaching when he had only scraps of memories, but the more Lance looked at his lesson plans, the better he felt. They were simple, straightforward. Designed for third graders. He could do this. It might take some research, and he’d probably have to learn the student’s names all over again, but he could do this.

Besides, he told those kids that he’d be back, and Lance was determined to keep that promise.

 

\-----

 

Keith called again four days later.

As the call connected, Lance bit his lip, bracing himself for the worst. But when Keith’s image came on the screen, the bandages were gone, his lip healed. The only remaining evidence of his injuries were tired lines beneath his otherwise brilliant eyes.

“Hi Lance.”

“Keith,” it came out as an exhale, Lance not even attempting to hide the relief in his voice. “You look better.”

Keith laughed softly. “Were you worried?”

Frowning, Lance sat on the couch, propping his arm up on his knee to steady his tablet. “Of course I was.”

Something changed in Keith’s face, a flicker of surprise passing over his features before the crinkle in his nose smoothed out. “Sorry,” he said, smiling.

“It’s okay,” Lance sighed. “Are you coming home soon?”

 _Home._ Not just coming back, but coming _home._

Keith frowned. “Is everything alright, Lance? Do you need me there?”

“No, I’m okay.” Lance hugged the throw pillow at his side, something he’d taken to doing when he sat on the couch. He didn’t know why. “I just miss you.”

Keith’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. Even Lance had to pause, surprising himself with the sudden admission - but it was true. He missed Keith. This apartment, his life, his days felt empty, a giant piece missing from them, and the longer Keith stayed away, the more obvious his absence became. The bed that was too large for one person, the clothes in the closet that weren’t his, the red leather flight jacket by the front door that was too wide in the shoulders, made for someone else to wear.

Lance didn’t know this life, it was strange and foreign and new. But the void where Keith should have been was starting to eclipse it all, an ache that he was feeling more keenly every day.

The look in Keith’s eyes was soft and fond. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

Just before the call ended, Lance caught a glimpse of the silver chain around Keith’s neck, dipping beneath his armor. Keith’s ring had been there on the day Lance awoke, disoriented and frightened. Setting his tablet aside, Lance held up his left hand, focusing on his bare ring finger. It occurred to him that he had no idea where his wedding ring was, the tan line where it once sat nearly faded.

Something pinged in his mind, like a tiny bell. Lance was up and going for the bedroom before he realized it.

Within the first few pages of their wedding book, a photo that Lance had originally glossed over now stood out. Himself and Keith smiling, Lance’s fingers holding up Keith’s left hand with a triumphant grin. On Keith’s finger sat a ring with a deep red gem, and below the photo, in Lance’s handwriting: “He said yes!”

Oh. _Lance_ had been the one to propose.

After a bit of searching, he found it - a mahogany jewelry box tucked into the closet. Inside was the engagement ring, a shining gold band with a trillion cut ruby, gleaming clear and bright. As he held it between his fingers, Lance felt a surge of giddiness, nervousness. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on his face, a soft breeze. And his own voice, shaking, cracking, _Keith, I love you, I’ll give you my whole life if you’ll have me._

Lance breathed deep, hugging the ring to his chest. He’d meant those words. He knew he did.

As he went to sleep that night, Lance clutched Keith’s pillow. It was losing his scent. _Come home soon._

 

\-----

 

It was one of Lance’s last scheduled visits with his therapist. Over the last month, he’d made enough progress that he felt comfortable going to an as-needed basis.

“Please don’t hesitate to call me if you have need,” his therapist said. “I can rearrange my schedule to a certain degree.”

From the couch, Lance nodded. “I think I’ll be okay. Keith should be back in a few days.”

His therapist hummed. “And how are things with Keith?”

“Good,” Lance smiled. “They’re good. We’re getting along now and… and I think…” He took a breath. “I think I’m falling for him.”

And there it was. There was a finality to saying it out loud, of someone else knowing. It was honest, too. Somewhere in the last month, be it by influence of surfacing memories or otherwise, Lance was falling in love. Again, he supposed, though it felt new, like the first time. It fluttered inside his chest like a tiny moth, thumping against his ribs in a bid to escape, to fly to Keith.

Soon.

 

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there!! Thank you everyone for your amazing comments, I never expected this fic to be as well received as it has been. Feedback is always welcome!

Lance’s alarm beeped quietly from his bedside table, rousing him from sleep. His fingers groped for a bit before finding the screen of his tablet and silencing the sound. Though he didn’t have any place to be, Lance still enjoyed waking up early, something about the desert sunrise filling him with energy.

He sat up and stretched his arms over his head. There was plenty of time to have breakfast and check the news before hitting the pool for his daily swim. Lance made a stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth, then headed for the kitchen. He was eternally thankful to his past self for stocking their apartment with an espresso maker and plenty of quality coffee beans. Any future where he could have a proper cup of Cuban coffee every day was alright by him.

As he was loading the portafilter with coffee, a shuffling from the living area caught Lance’s attention. Startled, the spoonful of sugar he was holding sprayed across the counter as he jerked towards the source.

A tangled mess of dark hair rose from the couch, blinking blearily at him.

“Keith?”

Rubbing at an eye, Keith looked to be barely awake, his hair a wild nest of black curls around his face. “Hey,” he answered, his voice rough with sleep.

Keith was here. Keith was  _ home. _ Lance felt his pulse quicken as Keith stood, wavering a bit, still wearing rumpled day clothes and making a vain attempt to smooth down his hair.

“When did you get in?”

Yawning wide, Keith shook his head as if to clear it. “Um. About four? I didn’t want to wake you, so…”

Lance turned to glance at the clock on the microwave. It was just after seven. “Oh,” He put the spoon down and used his hand to scoop up the sugar he’d spilled. Again, Keith’s inability to lie shone through. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to wake Lance that kept him on the couch - it was more likely that Keith wasn’t sure if he was welcome to share the bed.

“You should go back to sleep,” Lance suggested, emptying his handful of sugar into the sink and scooping a fresh spoonful into the portafilter.

“Nah,” Keith’s voice was a little more clear now. “I should stay up and reset my internal clock. The Blades run on a 37 hour day, so I always come back with a little jetlag.”

That sounded familiar. “Wanna grab a shower while I make some breakfast?”

“Can you make some fried eggs?” Keith asked, his voice shy.

Lance smiled. “Sure.”

Keith went to the bedroom for a stack of clothes, then disappeared into the bathroom. Once the door was shut behind him, Lance put a hand to his chest and leaned against the counter.

Keith was here.

He went about making breakfast, his heart thumping inside his chest. Lance almost burned the toast in his distracted state, and as he held a jar of red pepper flakes over the eggs that were simmering in a frying pan, he had a flash of a memory.  _ Keith hates spicy food. _ Lance capped the spice and set it aside, then went for the melon he’d sliced and put in the fridge the day before.

The coffee and hot milk was ready just as Keith came out of the bathroom, looking much more alert, his wet hair tied back in a neat spiral bun at the crown of his head. With their breakfast and coffee, they sat at the dining table, in the same seats they had when Keith cooked dinner before leaving. As they ate, their eyes met again and again, sending a little thrill through Lance each time.

 

The day felt too long and too short. Lance skipped his swim in favor of accompanying Keith to his debriefings, sitting a few seats away as Keith presented his report to Shiro and Iverson. Together they ate lunch with Pidge and her mother, where Lance learned that Kosmo had stayed behind with Krolia, his teleportation proving to be nothing short of a godsend to the Blades.

“There’s also the fact that he’s over 700 pounds now,” Keith commented, tearing off a chunk of sourdough bread to dip in his soup. “He doesn’t really fit in the apartment.”

Lance coughed, some of his corned beef lodging in his throat. “E-excuse me?”

There was mirth in Keith’s eyes. “Yeah. He’s basically a small horse at this point.”

Lance had trouble picturing it. Kosmo was already massive before they’d reached earth. Did he just… never stop growing?

As the hours wore on, Keith took to slumping, exhaustion plainly visible in his posture. And every time Lance suggested that Keith take a nap, he would only shake his head.

“If I can make it until ten, I’m good.”

Given how tired Keith was, Lance decided to cook dinner, hot pork sandwiches with sliced tomatoes and Altean salt-leaf crackers. They watched TV on the couch, side by side with a few inches of space between them. When Keith started nodding off, Lance checked the time - 9:47. Close enough.

“Hey,” He shook Keith’s shoulders gently. “It’s almost ten.”

Rubbing his eyes, Keith nodded and stood. They each brushed their teeth, Lance then changing into his silk pajamas and making a lap around the apartment to turn off lights. Keith came into the living room, wearing sweats and a tank top, pulling his hair from the bun he’d had it in all day. It fell around his shoulders in wide, springing curls, shiny and smooth. Good lord, he was  _ pretty. _

“I think I’m about to pass out,” Keith laughed quietly. He moved towards the couch, and Lance frowned.

“You’re sleeping out here?”

Keith blinked, then looked away sheepishly. “I just… thought that might be easier,” he said, his voice hushed.

That’s what Lance figured, and honestly sort of feared. Keith was still operating under the assumption that Lance didn’t love him, didn’t remember loving him. He had  _ no idea _ how wrong he was.

“Keith,” Lance said, gesturing to the bedroom door. “C’mon. Come to bed.”

Dark hair fluttered with the speed that Keith turned to stare, his eyes wide, searching all over Lance’s body. “...Are you sure?”

Oh, but a traitorous part of Lance wanted to say something dangerous. Wanted to see how Keith’s eyes would shift should he utter it. But no, this was too new. Too fragile, still only half formed. He willed his heart to calm itself and shrugged as nonchalantly as he could.

“It’s your bed too.”

Keith fidgeted by the couch for a bit, then slowly turned back towards Lance, following him into the bedroom. They settled under the sheets on their respective sides, and Lance reached over to turn off the light.

“Goodnight,” He whispered. The light flicked off, bathing the room in darkness.

“Night,” came a small mumble from the other side of the bed.

 

When Lance awoke, his back was warm. Carefully, he turned his head to peer over his shoulder, spotting a swath of dark hair and a pale shoulder, and smiled. Sometime in the night, Keith had coiled himself against Lance, his face pressed against the silk of Lance’s night shirt.

Gently, carefully, Lance reached for his tablet, where his alarm was set to sound in less than twenty minutes. He turned it off, then settled against his pillow, counting Keith’s slow, even breaths where they puffed hot between his shoulder blades.

 

\-----

 

Now that Keith was back, Lance felt giddy, excited. As though he were standing on the edge of a cliff looking down at the ocean below, waiting for the perfect moment to let himself fall into the water. He’d spent the last three weeks reacquainting himself with his life, and now Keith’s mannerisms had context, even if there were still gaping holes in Lance’s memory. Lance could see the love and devotion that Keith bore for him; it was as plain as day in all the little details that surrounded him.

He liked having Keith near him -  _ loved _ it - though he did his best to hide it, like a precious secret he didn’t want to reveal until the time was right. The anticipation made warmth spread all through him, effervescent and bright.

Their days went on. Keith recovered from his exhaustion, the light returning to his eyes along with the color in his cheeks. Some mornings, Lance would awaken first, turning over to find Keith beneath the covers, rolled onto his stomach as he often liked to sleep. Other days, Lance would rise to find Keith already gone, a coffee cup and fresh espresso grounds waiting for him in the kitchen.

And sometimes, rare and sacred, they would wake together, blinking away sleep. On those mornings, Keith’s soft smile would take Lance’s breath away, and he would struggle to keep his heart from pouring out. Not yet, not yet.

After an evening of pizza, snacks, and video games with Pidge, they sat on the couch, side by side. A little closer than they’d been before, each time, coming together just a bit more. As Lance channel surfed, Keith looked to be dozing off where he sat, his arms folded across his chest.

“Hey,” Lance spoke softly, tugging at Keith. “C’mere.”

Keith was pliant as Lance guided his head into his lap, where his hair spilled over Lance’s legs. Breathing deep, Keith relaxed, closing his eyes and resting his weight into the couch and against Lance’s thigh.

Lance watched him fall asleep, combing through Keith’s hair, the locks soft and thick between his fingers. Let his knuckles brush against Keith’s cheekbone, the skin smooth and warm, examined Keith’s elegantly handsome face, his long lashes and straight nose, his beautiful body, sculpted and strong. The long point of his scar, tracing a path from his jaw to his cheek. Lance sighed. Even now as Keith slept, Lance could feel his resolve, his strength, his compassion and wit, captivating and radiant, shining through every part of him. And just like that, there was no more “maybe,” no more “I think” or “I might.” Lance loved Keith. Oh, how he  _ loved, _ the feeling burning within him as though a star had squeezed itself between his ribs, hot and fierce, a sweet longing curling in his belly.

He would tell Keith soon, Lance decided. He bit his lip on a grin, feeling the excitement like a buzz beneath his skin.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am such a sucker for "I know I love this person but I'm gonna hold out and pine for them for a while because it's sweet torture" and I'm not sorry


	12. Chapter 12

Lance adjusted the collar of his uniform for what must have been the tenth time, his fingers shaking. A cold sweat was making his undershirt stick to his lower back. The three gold stripes on his shoulders gleamed in the light, taunting him. This was harder than he thought it would be.

In the reflection of the mirror in front of him, Lance saw Keith approach. “Everything alright?”

Glancing up, Lance wanted to nod, but instead hung his head. “This feels so weird.”

Keith smiled. “You’ll be fine,” he assured, putting a hand on Lance’s shoulder “Those kids love you. I’ve seen you work, you’re a natural with them.”

“I guess.” Lance straightened his spine and pulled the gray jacket against his chest. “The uniform is gonna take some getting used to.”

With a few pats to his shoulder, Keith nodded. “You’ve got until Monday, _Mister McClain._ I’m sure you’ll adjust by then.”

Four days. He was going back to teaching in four days. His lesson plans were finished and had passed his superior’s approval, he’d gone over his roster of 14 children dozens of times to memorize their names and faces, he’d walked the classroom building enough times to do it blindfolded - but Lance was still stewing in anticipation.

There was also the small matter of Keith.

Lance had made the decision to tell Keith that he loved him, but the timing had yet to be right. They’d been busy the last week, both of them, Keith with Marmora business and Lance with his teaching preparations. And call him a sap, but Lance wanted it to be special, a moment worthy of everything Keith had done for him, whether he remembered every detail or not.

They were having lunch on Saturday with Pidge, Shiro, and Hunk. Maybe afterwards would be a good time. Turning to the mirror, Lance took a deep breath, and adjusted his collar one last time.

 

\-----

 

It was good to have the original five Paladins together again, Hunk back from his interstellar work for the week. They chatted and laughed and ate, even opening a video call with Allura and Coran for old time’s sake. It made Lance feel grounded and at peace, like he’d finally found his place in this new life. Before he was Lance the pilot, the Paladin, the sharpshooter. Now, he was Lance the teacher, the diplomat, the husband. And as he glanced over at Keith, he thought that maybe someday, he could be Lance the dad. He loved the sound of that.

Shiro paid their tab, waving off protests from all of them. They parted ways, Lance staying close to Keith’s side, laughing all the way back to their apartment. He mustered enough bravery to put an arm around Keith’s shoulder, feeling his nerves spike when Keith leaned into him, both of them giggling as they went inside.

They stopped in the living room, Lance turning to face Keith as their laughter tapered off. In his flight jacket with his hair tied half-up, cheeks flushed pink from laughing, Lance nearly lost his nerve, so taken by how beautiful Keith was.

“Lance?”

Keith’s dark eyes were shining, purples and blues and grays. Lance could get lost in them forever.

“Kiss me.”

A request, spoken so only Keith would hear, yet it echoed through the space as Keith’s eyes went wide and searching. He was still for a long moment, then leaned forward slowly, carefully, to gently catch Lance’s bottom lip between his own.

It was soft and chaste and over far too soon, Keith pulling back to stare into Lance’s eyes. He was holding back, Lance could tell, a tiny quiver in his shoulders. Lance’s breath stuttered in his chest, a sudden want surging in his blood and he licked his lips.

“No,” he whispered. “I meant… kiss me like you would if I hadn’t forgotten.”

There was a certain delight in watching how Keith’s eyes widened, his pupils stretching out to cover the blue. He hesitated, then curled a hand at the back of Lance’s neck and pulled him forward. They practically crashed together, and a tiny part of Lance’s mind wondered if he had underestimated Keith’s response, the passion and force of his kiss making Lance’s head swim. He let himself be pulled into a pair of strong arms, held fast, reveling in being taken over.

Keith broke away with a loud smack of their lips. “I missed you,” he panted, diving in to recapture Lance’s mouth again and again. “I missed you _so much.”_

Threading his fingers into Keith’s long hair, Lance huffed, his heart pounding. “Show me.”

He was given all of a second to breathe before his legs were swept out from under him, Keith scooping Lance up to carry him into the bedroom. As as he was laid out on their bed, their clothes discarded, Lance saw the chain that circled Keith’s neck, threading through a pair of matching rings. Keith covered Lance’s body with his own, bringing with it a bliss that made Lance tremble all over. Keith knew exactly where and how to touch him, where to kiss, what to whisper hot in his ear to make Lance melt against him, chanting Keith’s name like a prayer.

And when Lance could take no more, he let Keith pull him in, filling the room with their labored breathing as Keith’s hand smoothed the sweat-damp hair away from Lance’s face.

He had the urge to laugh. It felt so right to be in Keith’s arms again, to be there with his _husband_ again, the feeling almost overwhelming. This is where he was meant to be, Lance thought, toying with the rings around Keith’s neck.

“I love you,” Lance told him. “I don’t know if I remembered or if I just fell for you again, but I love you.”

Keith’s breath shuddered, his hand reaching for the chain to yank it from his neck. It snapped in half, and he took one of the rings, slipping it on to Lance’s left ring finger before replacing his own. He laced their fingers together, kissing Lance’s knuckles and smiling at him.

“Love you,” Keith told him. “Always.”

 

\-----

 

A chorus of voices shrieked with joy as they tumbled from the classroom,  their thunderous steps heading for the doors to the recess area. With a sigh, Lance plopped down at his desk. His students were wonderful in every way, but handling them was some of the hardest work he’d ever done. And that included fighting in a war for the entire universe. He rubbed at his sore neck, already planning on a long, hot bath when he got home.

Keith sauntered in, dressed in black leather and looking every bit the tough guy. Or at least he would, it it wasn’t for the coffee cup and muffin in his hands. Keith had made a habit of coming to see him while the children were outside running off their endless energy, and it would be a lie to say that Lance didn’t delight in the attention.

“Hey,” Keith set the coffee and muffin on Lance’s desk. “How’s today going?”

Gathering up a stack of papers, Lance tapped them dramatically. “Great, if you ignore Isabella throwing up in her bookbag and Stephen and Dylan loudly ending their best friend status over a broken pencil.”

Keith laughed, leaning against the desk, his wedding band reflecting the overhead lights. “I’d reckon you’ve got it handled. We still on to spar later? I booked the training deck for us.”

Between the stacks of papers to grade, homework to check, and a pack of fourteen tiny wolves that were nothing short of ravenous when it came to needing Lance’s attention, he could feel the muscles in his neck tighten. He took a bite of his muffin and shrugged.

“Sorry,” he told Keith without looking up. “I have no memory of that.”

Lance received a sharp flick to his arm for the joke. But then Keith laughed and kissed him, and while Lance still had a world of catching up to do, he didn’t mind so much anymore.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you so much to everyone who read and left comments. This was a really fun fic to write! Come talk to me on social media, I also draw things!
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr](https://somekindoftuber.tumblr.com/)  
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/somekindoftuber)


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